


Nights Dressed in Gold

by samulett



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, Missing Scene, Pining, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 00:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4543572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samulett/pseuds/samulett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam just keeps waiting for the day that their magnetic fields dismantle and they can converge without repelling each other at the same time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nights Dressed in Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ronanlunch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronanlunch/gifts).



> I want to thank ronanlunch, punkrockparrish, and some awesome anons over on Tumblr for prompting me to write some Adam/Gansey; you guys are what reminded me how much I love these two.
> 
> These two have one of the most wonderfully complex relationships, and I can't deny that I struggled with reconstructing it here, but I fully enjoyed cooking up a bittersweet and admittedly sappy ending for them. Also, the Ronan/Noah just snuck in there, I couldn't do anything about it. The fic functions as a collection of missing scenes spanning the first three books and shifts between Adam and Gansey's POVs, so hopefully things won't be too confusing. Constructive criticism is doubly encouraged for this one, and I thank you all for reading and commenting! Enjoy!
> 
> You can listen to the companion fanmix here: http://8tracks.com/figs/new-ways-to-hurt-gansey-adam  
> And my other Adam/Gansey mix is here: http://8tracks.com/figs/the-sum-of-your-broken-parts-gansey-adam

Adam can only think of them as two magnets. Being near Gansey means being pulled in two different directions, and Adam just keeps waiting for the day that their magnetic fields dismantle and they can converge without repelling each other at the same time. There's a part of himself that needs Gansey, craves his company, wants to find their similar parts and make them a perfect, unbreakable whole. And then there's another part that is determined to drive him away, to fend off his charity, to look the other way and stand alone, knowing that Gansey is his equal before anything else.

It's this constant push and pull that Adam can't get out of, throwing his heart around like it's not a breakable thing, and Gansey—pleasant, gallant, naive Gansey—wants to hold Adam's heart in his hands.

Adam's too afraid he'll take it.

 

Ronan and Noah are busy with some secret, boisterous and most likely dangerous activities behind Ronan's closed door, so Gansey and Adam collect up their textbooks and notepads and take the Camaro.

There's a field not far from the trailer park, nestled just on the edge of town. A dirt road cuts through it until about the dead centre and stops, as if whoever was making it disappeared halfway through and never came back to finish the job. Adam doesn't know where the road intended to go, but now it doesn't go anywhere. They don't visit it very often, but Gansey, Adam thinks, likes the solitude and the overgrown, waving grass—despite the dangers—and so he isn't overly surprised when Gansey turns down the bumpy stretch of reddish dirt and parks at the end.

The sun has disappeared over the tops of the trees, and the Camaro's insides are lit up with yellow-orange light. Gansey's hair is a goddamn halo and it makes something churn in the pit of Adam's stomach; jealousy, awe, want.

They clamber into the back seat where they can drop their shoes in the foot wells and sit cross-legged with their books open on their laps. Gansey opens the bag of dates he bought at the convenience store and bites one in half.

“Poetry?” Gansey asks, fingers searching for a dog-eared page in his notebook. He dips his head, the curve of his neck suddenly distracting Adam from his notes.

“Alfred de Musset.” Adam grabs the handout and offers it to Gansey. He takes it with a slight smile.

He reads it, out loud, mouth curling easily around the words. It tells the story of a knight gone to war and his lover left behind, waiting for a return that won't happen, knowing that his ambitions weren't worth the price.

“' _For this I'll weep, who was beguiled, and told my smile was sweeter so_.'” Gansey is smiling down at the printed words, thinking, revelling maybe. Adam doesn't feel the same pull that Gansey does or, if he does, he doesn't feel it for the same things.

“I like it,” Gansey says as he lifts his head, fixing that smile on Adam instead. “Do you?”

Adam doesn't. It feels eerily close to home, a variant of the future that Adam hasn't worked out he's feelings about yet. He's not sure if it's him in the helmet or writing the lament, but both possibilities scare him.

“Westbrooke does,” Adam says, slipping the page back over the silver rings of his notebook, and Gansey smirks.

“Definitely on the exam, then,” he says. He slides over into the middle seat, and lays half of his notes on Adam's leg.

“Need to compare?” he asks and Adam nods, smelling the sugary smell of the dates and the golden rod just outside the barely cracked window.

Gansey's notes look like pieces of artwork, but Adam isn't surprised. They're like his journal, margins brimming with sidenotes and rushed doodles. The lines of texts vary in color, the collaboration of dozens of pens and highlighters. Gansey has made his own blue lines in some places, cutting the writing space in half and filling it with smaller print and more words. Adam's notes are black and white, neat and tidy. Adam's are organized where Gansey's are pleasant and almost indecipherable. Adam, though, is used to the intricacies, used to the way Gansey's ideas just beg to be poured all over blank pages.

Under the heading “Barbarina's Song,” Gansey has written _valiance, success, loss_ in dark blue.

“You could write about the knight's goal,” Gansey muses, prodding the word on Adam's page with the end of his pen. Adam scans Gansey's bullet points as he goes on. “How he had something to fight for in a time that appreciated fighting.”

“Yeah. Probably not enough depth for this class,” Adam says, and flips the page. He has to write what _he_ thinks, and he thinks the knight has been selfish. Maybe for a good reason. He can't decide.

“Or about the lover's feelings.” Gansey's voice is softer, more thoughtful. Out of the corner of his eye, Adam sees Gansey rub at his bottom lip with his thumb. “Left behind in exchange for... greater things.”

Adam turns to Gansey, looking down. His hand falls from his face and his fingers splay out over the page instead. He's still thinking. His eyes flicker up after a moment of just staring at the words. His hand moves to turn the page, warm fingers bumping against Adam's wrist. Gansey's looking at him curiously, almost expectantly. Adam doesn't know what he wants to hear, and Gansey looks at his mouth.

“What do you think?” he asks, and it's likes his eyes can't decide where they should be. They dart up and back down again.

“I'll figure something out,” Adam says after a beat. He leans away from Gansey and yanks another book out of his bag, violently severing whatever taut connection was holding them so still and so close. When Adam settles again, Gansey is staring blankly at something past Adam's shoulder, his mouth a barely-there smile. Adam blinks at him, ducks hesitantly into his line of sight.

“Should we look at some Latin?” Adam asks. Gansey comes back to him with a huff of laughter and raised eyebrows.

“We'd better.” He smiles.

 

Adam doesn't remember falling asleep, but when he wakes, they're in darkness. He blinks his eyes open, lifting his head from it's awkward position against the back of the seat. He rubs at an eye with the heel of his hand and glances out the window. The grass is blowing gently under a cluster of flickering firefly lights.

He realizes with a flinch that Gansey's head is resting on his chest, the other boy's shoulder nestled under Adam's arm. His weight is leaned into Adam, his forehead tipped against Adam's collarbone. It takes Adam a perplexed moment to realize that Gansey is fast asleep, but once he does, he manages to pull in a long, settling breath, despite how freaked out he feels. Gansey has slid low in the seat but he still has one leg crossed over the other, one arm curved around his waist and his other hand resting quite peacefully on Adam's thigh.

Adam jumps when Gansey's phone buzzes and the screen's bright light fills the cramped space. It rests between them on the seat, and Adam picks it up carefully, inexplicably letting Gansey continue to use him as a pillow. The text is from Ronan's phone, but the message _what happened to u guys? where are u?_ seems less like a Ronan text and more like a Noah one. Adam keys in _back soon_ and puts the phone down again.

They should go. According to Adam's watch, it's already quarter to twelve, and neither of them are keen on skipping morning classes. There's also the heavy thought that there will be hell to pay if Adam doesn't get home soon. He wonders—with a muttered _shit_ —if his father will have gone to bed angry, or if he'll be waiting. Neither are good, but they'll only be made worse the longer they stay here.

But Adam is hesitating, and he tells himself it's because he's a little thrown by the situation. He's used to Gansey's fistbumps and shoulder jostles and even the rare touch of Gansey's shoe against his ankle under the table at Nino's, but this is none of those things. This is Gansey's head rising and falling with Adam's breath, Gansey's heart mumbling against Adam's side, Gansey's warmth making Adam forget the condescended chill.

The way Gansey had looked at him earlier had caught him off guard. He was still Adam and Gansey was still Gansey, but there was a shift in the air around them, or in the way the world was supposed to be in the backseat of the Pig. He'd felt hollowed out, like Gansey was looking at his insides and somehow liked what he saw. Then Adam felt he had to stave him off, hold him at a distance, keep whatever this was on a leash.

There are already too many conflicted emotions suffocating him when Gansey is around; he doesn't need something as messy as _this_ thrown into the mix.

Adam's still here, though, pulling in his chin to look down at his best friend huddled up against his side. Gansey's hands are different than Adam's. Adam's fingers are long and knobby, the knuckles large and his fingernails too often dirty at the corners. Gansey's are long, too, but not strange. They're straight and well-proportioned. They look strong but careful; a leader's hands. The veins lining the back of the hand on Adam's thigh are perfectly spaced between the thin bones, and Adam thinks about how every part of Gansey seems painstakingly constructed: straight nose, sharp chin, broad shoulders. Adam is difficult cheekbones and long arms and hips that don't seem to align with the rest of him.

His hand shakes when he runs his fingertip over the soft skin of Gansey's hand and across his knuckles. He has an unexplainable want to know the curves, understand the sinew and remember which joints click and which are smooth. Gansey's finger twitches under Adam's touch, but nothing else happens.

That's all that Adam can manage. It feels odd even to touch only this much when Gansey doesn't know about it. Adam's chest is tight as he shifts his body, trying to stir the sleeping boy, and Gansey moves, makes a small noise in the back of his throat that makes Adam feel very warm and prickly. He rocks his shoulder forward gently and Gansey startles a little and wakes. He lets out a long, tired breath against Adam's chest and lifts his head, his hair brushing Adam's chin. Then he sits up—a quick, frightened movement—and looks around bleary-eyed. When his gaze lands on Adam and the clouded window next to him, his panic morphs into a different kind of panic. His hand lifts from Adam's leg, fingers curling into a fist.

“Oh. Christ,” he says, and he sounds like he's been caught doing something terrible. He straightens his shirt before reaching out for his abandoned phone. “Sorry. What time is it?”

“Twelve. I feel asleep, too. Too much Latin, I guess,” Adam says, collecting himself and sitting up. He's not sure if meeting Gansey's eyes right now is a good idea, but he does it anyway. “We should go.”

“Sorry. I should have—,” Gansey says again, holding Adam's gaze for a moment too long before pocketing his phone and pulling on his shoes. He climbs his way into the driver's seat. He seems distracted, or maybe too eager to have a distraction. Adam hesitates in the backseat, packing up his books and sealing the bag of dates shut as Gansey rambles.

“I can't believe I was out like that. You should have woken me right away. Or—or, I guess you did, did you?” Adam knows Gansey is looking at him in the rear-view mirror but he pretends he doesn't. He doesn't want to answer the question, because he doesn't want to lie, but he doesn't want Gansey to know that it had felt jarringly good to be that close. Adam wishes _he_ didn't know. He pretends that he just didn't hear as he crawls into the front seat and buckles himself. The engine turns over.

“We should have brought coffee,” Gansey tries, a finicky laugh escaping his mouth. He swings an arm across the back of Adam's seat as he backs them down the road.

“It's okay,” Adam says.

 

-

 

It's amazing that despite everything that they're facing, they still have time to eat overcooked, greasy pizza in an almost equally greasy booth in the corner of Nino's, but they do. Blue is assigned their table and refuses to bring Ronan extra cola, Ronan tosses rolled up napkin scraps into her apron and Noah sits with his hands in his lap, grinning at them. Gansey and Adam are sitting next to each other, but are careful not to touch, engaging sleepily with the ruckus their friends are causing to avoid any suspicion of something being wrong. It's a long evening like that; tossing around sarcasm and smirks and terse remarks takes extra effort tonight, and by the time Blue is waving them out with slightly exaggerated urgency, Gansey is dead tired.

“Next time I'm only letting two of you in,” Blue says, pinning up a stray piece of hair with an orange clip. “And it's going to be Noah and Adam.”

Gansey manages to appear offended. “That's poor service.”

“I don't make the rules,” she says as she turns back to the kitchen. She clearly does.

Ronan has the BMW parked on the other side of the lot, and he and Noah are sprinting towards it—Ronan shoving Noah's shoulder and both of them laughing—before Gansey and Adam are fully out the door.

“Where's your bike?” Gansey asks, because the only other mode of transportation he can see is a sagging tour bus, which explains the large group of elderly people who'd been more than happy to pause at the boys' table and comment on Gansey's handsome face.

“Flat tire,” Adam says with a shrug.

“Stop fucking around,” Ronan calls over his shoulder as he yanks open the driver's side door. Noah has already slunk into the front passenger seat. Adam looks at Gansey with a long-suffering half smile and then lifts his hand in a small wave.

“Parrish?” Gansey says before Adam can turn away.

“What?” comes the almost immediate answer, like he had already guessed he wouldn't get away so easily. It's like they're hyper-aware of each other lately, waiting for _something_ to happen.

“Can I come over? Would you mind?” Gansey's impressed he got the words out before his brain could trample them down.

“You want to...” Adam starts and Gansey smiles, embarrassed and adamant about not showing it, tucking his hands neatly into his pockets.

“I've been having trouble sleeping lately,” he says and it's not entirely a lie. “I thought a change of scenery might... If you wouldn't mind. Just for one night.”

Adam is looking at him strangely, like he's not sure what this is. In truth, Gansey doesn't really know either. It feels very desperate in an unattractive way.

“Sure,” Adam finally agrees, crossing an arm across his chest to scratch at his opposite shoulder.

Ronan blares the horn, and Gansey turns to the car and waves at them to go. Ronan looks at Noah and vice versa, but Ronan urges the car out of its parking space and rolls to a stop next to them. Gansey sees Adam shift next to him, and Gansey feels uncomfortable putting them all in this position, where everyone knows something is going on but no one's at the point of talking about it. He's drawing lines that separate them and he wishes he could stop.

“Sleepover?” Ronan asks, leaning over Noah to peer out the open window. Noah doesn't look at him but his mouth quirks at the corner. Gansey gives Ronan a look that begs him not to ask; Ronan's face screws up a little, suddenly bordering on pissed, but he doesn't push it. He drops back into his seat, instead, nodding slightly. The smile on Noah's face turns apologetic and he waves as they pull away.

 

They spend the walk back to St. Agnes discussing Gansey's newest theories, the rowing team's recent loss, and the shirt that Noah insisted Ronan buy last time they were all in a department store together: a pale blue t-shirt with the words _dream on dreamer_ printed in white sans-serif across the chest. Ronan had refused—“You don't want me in a shirt, Czerny”—and then Gansey had offered—“I'll make it a gift”—and now it's sitting in a heap on the floor of the bath/kitchen/laundry room.

The loft is cold when Adam unlocks the door, but Gansey doesn't mention it. They kick off their shoes, and Gansey ditches his coat, folding it up and leaving it by the door. Adam perches on the edge of his bed, hands on his knees.

It's interesting to be in Adam's space. Gansey had never known the inside of the trailer, just the dirt drive and the dusty siding. He'd never seen Adam's room—his curtains or dresser or bed—and he wonders, now, what those things might have been like. Most likely clean and bare like the loft is, lacking personality. But even still, there are little details that betray the kind of person Adam is. A handful of ignition coils are curled on a scrap of frayed fabric in one corner, and there's a textbook full of blue and green sticky tabs sitting on one of Adam's lightly sharpied boxes.

“I have an assignment to finish up,” Adam says, leaning over to his makeshift night stand to flick on the light and grab a pile of papers.

“That's fine,” Gansey says. Adam spreads his homework across his lap, shoulders hunched as he tries a few different pens to find one that works. Gansey only hesitates a second before slipping down onto the bed. He sits, hands clutching at his knees. He looks at Adam, at his hooded eyes and his pale eyelashes, his cheekbones that Gansey would be happy to cut his fingertips on. The gaping hole in Gansey's chest yawns wider the longer he watches Adam's throat move and his chest rise, and eventually he has to stop himself. He pushes himself farther back on the mattress, and lets himself topple soundlessly to the side, behind Adam. His head drops onto the pillow. It would be so easy to curl around Adam now, press his stomach to Adam's lower back and rest his chin by Adam's thigh, but he doesn't. This alone feels like territory that isn't rightfully his to invade. He says, tiredly, “I'll be here.”

Adam nods, but doesn't turn to look at him. It makes Gansey feel like's done something wrong, but he's resolute in his decision to lie here unless he's asked not to. It's close quarters, and Gansey can feel Adam's warmth, can smell Adam's shampoo on the pillow under his head. Gansey rests his palm on the pillow next to his face, and his eyes track the hands ticking on his watch face until his vision goes blurry.

 

When Adam finally moves, Gansey starts. He realizes, suddenly, that the evening light has replaced the dark shadows. He blinks as Adam gets up and watches as he retreats to the bathroom, the muscles in his back pulling as he rotates his shoulders. He disappears through the narrow doorway and Gansey's eyes close mostly involuntarily. He hadn't realized he was so exhausted, but apparently Adam's silent company was enough to lull him into peaceful sleep. He thinks, haltingly, that that shouldn't be such a surprise. When they don't have things to argue about, Adam's presence is calming, grounding.

The sound of Adam's bare feet on the floor comes in what feels like only a second later. Gansey doesn't open his eyes; just listens as Adam comes to a stop next to the bed. He sighs very quietly, the sound whistling a little, and Gansey pictures his lips pulling together in the shape of a circle, a tiny wind tunnel. Then the light goes out with a click and the inside of Gansey's eyelids turns black instead of red.

The mattress dips with Adam's weight, and Gansey lets gravity tug him closer to the centre. Adam settles next to him, knees bumping knees, an elbow pressed to the bottom of Gansey's rib cage. The smell of toothpaste and soap is strong.

“Why are you pretending to be asleep?” Adam whispers. Gansey can't help it; he smiles immediately.

“I don't know,” he whispers back and opens his eyes. Adam is lying half on his back, facing the ceiling. His gaze slides over to meet Gansey's.

“You didn't take your contacts out,” Adam reminds him. “Or brush your teeth. Or change.”

“I can suffer in the morning,” Gansey says, and Adam smiles carefully. Gansey's smiles back, squashing the side of his face more firmly into the cushion while he fights to keep his drooping eyes open, proving that he's incapable of anything but lying here next to Adam. At the moment, it's his single great aspiration. Just this and nothing else.

His limbs feel very heavy, but he manages to lift his hand, fingers tucked into a fist. Adam raises his own fist and they bump their knuckles together. Gansey breathes out a laugh.

“Night, Parrish.”

 

-

 

It shouldn't be a big deal, but Adam thinks about Gansey sleeping in his bed for weeks after the fact.

It doesn't make any rational sense, because they have all been intimately snug in each other's presences enough times for it to not be particularly odd to sit in chairs together or touch each other's backs or share sips from one cup—though Ronan won't let any of them forget how _fucking gross_ that last one is. But he's as guilty as the rest of them, no matter how much he tries to shrug off the accusations. It was only two days ago that Adam had seen Ronan rubbing a surprisingly gentle thumb against Noah's smudgy cheek, just glancing through a crack in the bathroom/kitchen/laundry room door.

That, though, is much lower on Adam's list of concerns than having Gansey in his bed.

Monmouth is surprisingly quiet. It's a Sunday, almost evening, and there's streams of pale light filtering through the scarred windows, illuminating dust motes as they float over Gansey's head. He's stretched out on the couch, his glasses pushed up on top of of his head, brown hair scraped back from his forehead. His mouth is barely open as he pulls in long breaths, one hand splayed over his chest, the other crooked over the arm rest.

Adam figures he didn't sleep well the night before, and has managed to dip easily into unconsciousness with everyone here – other than Blue, but Gansey doesn't seem keen on trying to keep tabs on her, knowing she'd detest it – safe under one roof and under his thumb. The thought is surprisingly venomous and Adam immediately takes it back, glancing at Gansey, his face innocent and open as he dreams.

It had been nice to have Gansey next to him as he'd slept, warm and quiet and near, close enough to touch or look at. He'd felt a little guilty, memorizing the long stretch of Gansey's nose and the faded colors of veins across his closed eyelids, having fallen asleep long before Adam finally let the heaviness of the night tug him down. It had felt like he was breaking some rule, looking at Gansey like that. Maybe it comes down to the fact that Gansey is not something Adam thinks he can have – or deserves to have? – just like Gansey is not something that Adam can ever be. He's untouchable on too many levels. Having him like that, just to look at, just to feel at a distance, had been good. Good in a way that makes him want to wander over to the couch now. Good in a way that he doesn't want to confront.

Adam is (supposed to be) studying, trying not to think about the garage being closed for the weekend and the hours that have slipped through his fingers, or about the sound of leaves rustling next to his ear, or about Gansey. None of it's easy.

Noah appears outside of Ronan's room and looks at Adam, wearing a smile that would be sleepy if his eyes weren't so unbelievably large and dark. He looks strong though, glowing in the light rather than sinking into the shadows. He saunters over to Gansey, takes his hanging arm by the wrist and folds it over his stomach. Adam has been considering doing the same thing for half-an-hour now, thinking of the blood pooling in Gansey's fingers. He couldn't make himself do anything about it. He was afraid what might happen if he touched him.

“Where's Ronan?” Adam asks, swallowing thickly when the words don't come out right.

“Sleeping,” Noah says, dropping a shoulder as he moves around the back of the couch. He perches on it, turning to face Adam.

“What's with them?” Adam frowns, jerking a chin at Gansey. It's not even ten o'clock yet.

“Tired, I guess,” Noah says. “Aren't you?”

The question catches Adam slightly off-guard – it seems to happen more and more with Noah – but he eventually shrugs, eyes bouncing off the page of math problems and back to Noah.

“Yeah, but—,” Adam stops himself, pressing his tongue to the back of his teeth. He doesn't really know what he was going to say, anyway. He can't blame Gansey or Ronan; their lives have been more hectic recently than they've ever been, with a few extra flavors of unbelievable thrown into the mix. He's only irritable because he wishes he could sleep now, too; just lean back and let his tense body relax. He can't, though.

“Ronan,” Adam starts, doing little to change the topic. “How is he?”

Noah's face shifts through a series of half-expressions. First fond, then thoughtful, then concerned, and back to fond. He touches his cheek with a finger.

“He told me he never wants to sleep again,” Noah says, swinging his legs over the back of the couch and then letting himself sink down into the seat, drawing his knees to his chest. He does his best to avoid Gansey's legs, slipping into place amongst the two stretched limbs rather than rearranging them. Noah seemed to fit anywhere, with anyone. “But I said he has to sleep sometimes.”

“And that convinced him?” Adam asks. It doesn't seem like an argument Ronan would find particularly compelling. Certainly not one he'd listen to.

“No.” Noah smiles like he knows a secret. Seeing as he doesn't elaborate, Adam assumes he isn't in the mood to share it either.

It's funny, how well Noah and Ronan can get along. They're an odd pair: a muddled ghost with a sometimes tainted smile and a street-racing dreamer with a gaze hot enough to start forest fires. But they thought like one person, sometimes. Moved in tandem without trying to. They seemed to care about each other without being afraid of the feeling. There's a hint of something like jealousy in Adam's throat when he considers it. He and Gansey make more sense – boys with similar goals and big dreams and certain ways of achieving them – and yet Adam can't seem to make it work. There's always something wrong, something that doesn't feel right in his chest or his head and he has to throw up a few walls so Gansey has to stumble back from him.

“It's not your fault,” Noah says and Adam blinks at him, the book going a little slack in his hand.

“What?”

“It's not,” Noah repeats, smiling encouragingly. He sets his chin on his knees, glancing sidelong at Gansey's sleeping form. “He's made mistakes, too.”

Adam swallows, about to ask if Noah's poking around in his head before telling himself it's not worth it. A shaky breath comes out of him and he nods, confused but grateful to hear the words. He has no idea how much Noah knows or how much Noah suspects, but maybe it doesn't matter. He touches the back of his neck, eyes trained on the numbers on the page instead of Noah's face; it's easier.

“As many as me?” he asks, unsure.

“Sorry. I should've been keeping a tally.” Noah sounds legitimately apologetic, and Adam snorts a laugh before he can help himself.

 

-

 

Everything that can go wrong goes wrong in Washington. By the time the Ganseys have silently let their meeting about Adam Parrish's well-being come to a vague close, Gansey is desperate to get away from his thoughts.

But before he can do anything about _that_ , he can't let Adam sleep half-propped up on the couch. He rouses him just enough to get him on his feet and moving with Gansey's arms to support his heavy limbs. He isn't exactly grateful to be up, but Gansey didn't expect that after the day they've had. He consoles himself with that fact that they'll both rest easier when Adam is tucked up in a real bed. The stairs are slow-going, but they make it to Gansey's bedroom door without too much trouble, other than the fact that Adam is deathly silent even when he stumbles on the last step. Gansey's not sure if that's because the boy leaning against his side is completely exhausted or because he simply refuses to say two words to him, but Gansey is desperate to know. He almost asks, but manages to push the words down. Adam's eyes are hooded, his body too warm through his shirt, and it just isn't the time. There's still a spark of anger in the pit of Gansey's stomach that's helping to keep his mouth closed, but it's well on its way to being snuffed out.

Gansey gets the door open and guides Adam through the dark and over to the bed, plush with a new duvet Gansey doesn't recognize and more pillows than are necessary for a single head.

The back of Adam's knees hit the mattress and he slides from Gansey's hold. The bed sinks a little as he sits.

“Here.” The deceptively steady word precedes a swallow as Gansey bends at the waist and reaches out for the hem of Adam's shirt.

“ _Gansey_ ,” Adam says, fingers deftly wrapping around Gansey's wrists, stilling him. Somehow, he sounds exasperated and needy and apologetic at once, but his face is only tired. He lifts his eyes to look at Gansey like he's hoping to find some kind of answer scrawled over his face; from the dip of his eyebrows, Gansey guesses he doesn't find it, and Gansey inexplicably feels guilty. There's a moment when they just look at each other, Gansey's jaw clenched and the corner of Adam's mouth twitching a little. Finally, Adam gives a small nod of consent and Gansey tugs the shirt up, revealing a long stretch of bronze skin turned silvery blue in the dimness. Adam pulls his arms free and Gansey lifts the shirt over his head. Adam rubs at his face, elbows jutted out to distract from his bare torso, then turns to look at the bed before lowering himself down onto his side. The pillow makes a crumpling sound as his head hits it, and Gansey folds up Adam's warm shirt, fingers smoothing over the fabric as he diverts his gaze. They've been put on unequal ground again, and he doesn't want Adam to feel it.

“Are you okay?” Adam asks, eyes already closed. His voice is quiet, tinged with frustration, like he wishes he hadn't asked but he couldn't keep himself from it. Gansey nods, turning to set Adam's shirt down on the top of the well-aged dresser.

“Fine,” he says, unsure what to do now that his hands are empty. “Are you?”

There's no answer, but Gansey hadn't really expected one. He rubs his palms on his thighs as Adam climbs under the crinkling covers.

“Go to sleep,” Adam says, and when Gansey looks back at him, his eyes are open, pale in the muted light from the window. Gansey nods again, mouth turning up in a weak smile that Adam doesn't match; what he does is turn his head and tilt his chin over his shoulder, at the empty right half of the bed. It's not an invitation or a request, but more of a simple reminder that the bed is huge and Adam doesn't really care anymore what happens between now and morning. It's up to Gansey to make a choice. His shoulders slump in a mixture of defeat and relief, but he hesitates, that little flame inside him sputtering. Adam fumbles with the edge of the covers and pulls them up to his stomach, and Gansey figures that's the end of it.

He goes back to the door and shuts it, flicking the lock over. He'll get up early, make himself busy with something or other so no one asks. He unbuttons his shirt as he walks to the closet, letting it slide off his shoulders and into the waiting wicker hamper. There's a pair of loose cotton pants in one of the closet's internal drawers, so Gansey sheds the rest of his clothes—carefully, with a mind full of Adam turned away, eyes closed—and pulls them on. Then it's the long walk back to the bed, glancing warily at the locked door that's failing to reassure him, lifting the blankets and catching sight of Adam's curled legs in their rumpled dress pants. He slides between the sheets and lays his head down, neglecting to slip off his glasses just yet. He pretends he doesn't know why, but the truth is he wants to see Adam a little longer, watch over him until he drifts off.

The bed somehow smells arrogantly fresh, and Gansey can taste the cologne his mother had bullied into his hands when he touches his lip with his thumb. There's a hint of champagne tinging the air, and Gansey's figures that's Adam, the smell hanging on from yesterday. The rest is the dry smell of Washington air, which Adam had spent hours walking around in today, and Gansey hates it. His best friend's supposed to smell like oil and cut grass and salty skin, not the old home Gansey frequently isolates to the rear-view mirror.

He feels like he should say something else, but he doesn't think Adam wants to hear it. He doesn't think Adam wants anything right now but to fall asleep and pretend that he hadn't spent the day trying to retrace steps he didn't remember taking.

There's a scar on Adam's back, running diagonal across his shoulder blade. It's pale and jagged, stark against Adam's skin. Gansey doesn't know how it got there, but he has a good guess, and it feels, suddenly, like there's too much air in his chest, making him ache. He'd had that feeling earlier, when he'd walked down the drive to his father's car, his phone clutched in his hand, waiting for his mother to retrieve the keys so he and Richard Gansey II could start searching.

Adam was _gone_ , and Gansey had lost him. There were no white horses or torches, and there was no fanfare when they'd pulled over behind a car that contained a nervous woman and a pale-faced Adam tucked in the backseat. There was just that desperate feeling of wanting to make things alright.

Adam's breathing has slowed a little, but it's deliberate; Gansey knows he hasn't fallen asleep yet. He also knows that the scar is half his fault—it feels that way, anyway. Maybe if he'd pushed a little harder, he could have gotten Adam out sooner. But that's not fair, either. He'd been trying to let Adam choose, trying to step back and keep his hands and his money to himself. He's forever wary of crossing lines that he's slowly getting better at not crossing.

Gansey'd been stupid about it before, and in truth, he continues to be stupid about it now. It's like an itch he can't successfully ignore, but scratching only makes it bleed. And he can't help but to think about Adam saying that leaving his father's house and moving into Monmouth would only mean he would be Gansey's instead of Robert Parrish's. It was an uncomfortable, unsavoury possibility in Adam's head, and Gansey had come to understand why but he still didn't like the memory of Adam saying the words. They'd been tired and sore, an unhappy compliment to his eyes as he'd looked at Gansey.

Gansey wonders, still, if maybe they could be _each other's_ instead.

He lifts his hand from the mattress and presses his fingers to Adam's back. They move slowly, skimming tentatively over the raised flesh, and down over the lip of the bone. Adam doesn't lean into the touch, but he doesn't pull away either.

“I'm sorry, Adam,” Gansey says, because he is sorry; sorry that he couldn't stop it, sorry that he'd tried in the wrong way, sorry that he'd been so angry that he'd looked at Adam and thought he was to blame. The thought turns his stomach now. He'd managed to get everything so wrong. Today had been no different; he's sorry and he knows he's going to keep being sorry, over and over until he finally understands Adam inside and out.

Gansey's fingers follow the line of the scar and keep going even when it runs out, just sliding along lightly freckled skin, down and across until he brushes over the indents of Adam's spine.

Adam makes a tired, soft noise—a puff of breath more than anything else—and Gansey draws his hand back to himself. They're supposed to be fighting, and they are – on some level, they always are – but he'd wanted a moment to pretend they weren't and he'd gotten it.

It's over now.

He lets himself be engulfed by the covers despite the heat in the room, ignoring the muffled sound of blood pumping as he presses his face against the pillow. The arm of his glasses cuts into his skin a little, but he waits for Adam's breath to even out before he folds them and puts them on the nightstand.

Gansey dreams of a world where the scar disappears under his fingertips and he can wake Adam with a kiss.

-

 

It's not fair.

Adam is used to that. Fairness is not something he's seen a lot of. He'd decided a long time ago that it probably wasn't something that actually existed; it was just a fantastical ideal that people liked the thought of. But Gansey dying is the _farthest_ thing from fair that's ever wrapped it's violent hand around Adam's heart.

It feels _right_ in a horrible, sickening, brutally obvious way. Of course it's Gansey. There's no better way for the universe to take them all and shred them to pieces than putting a noose around Gansey's neck.

Ronan is gone to The Barns, most likely for the night or at least the better part of it. Malory has miraculously found a charming Bed & Breakfast that he's decided is an interesting enough place to spend some money on, and Noah's room remains empty. Noah's taken the night off to recharge, and while Adam's not sure exactly what that entails, he knows that Noah has been doing it more frequently lately, and it makes him feel like he should be out there, healing the line. Instead he's at Monmouth, a book open on his lap as Gansey paces in front of one of the bookcases. He's been stalking back and forth with tense muscles and tapping fingers—yes, Adam's noticed—for about an hour now and he seems persistent to stay uncomfortable until he's reached some sort of epiphany about the cave and Glendower and all the other impossibilities that they can't seem to stop stumbling over. He's determined to be prepared, but none of them have any idea what they need to be prepared for.

Adam himself is persistent not to go anywhere. It's not typical for him to hover, especially when he has to compromise his time and his dignity to do it. He'd rearranged his work schedule instead of calling off, but the series of phone conversations he'd had left him feeling pathetic and disorganized, which always dropped stones in his stomach. These, though, are dire circumstances, made even more so by Gansey's ignorance and the feeling Adam has of being completely torn open. If Gansey could bring himself away from his thoughts, he would have seen it in Adam's expressions. There's no hiding it tonight; Adam can feel it in the pull of his skin, like whatever was hiding it before has left him bare and dry and exposed.

He waits for two hours, curled in the leather chair. He pretends to be engrossed in the book Gansey handed him an hour and a half earlier, but his focus is constantly wavering. They only speak when Gansey thinks of something new to investigate or when he feels the need to voice an idea or ask a question. The rest of the time is spent in almost silence, apart from Gansey's shoes on the floor and the infrequent gusts of wind against the windowpanes.

“I should turn in,” Gansey eventually concedes, leaning back against his desk chair after spending twenty minutes hunched over a book of Welsh myth. He glances over his shoulder at Adam, offering a tired smile, and Adam nods.

“It's late,” he agrees.

It's one in the morning, but Gansey doesn't tell Adam he should stay, because it's something that he usually wouldn't agree to. He gets up from his seat and starts sorting through his drawers, instead, searching for a pair of pajamas. Adam closes his book and stands, wandering over to one of the bookshelves while Gansey disappears into the bathroom/kitchen/laundry room to change.

Adam is acutely aware of the noises behind the door: Gansey's stifled yawn, the crack of his belt buckle hitting the floor, the sputtering splash of water as he turns the tap on to brush his teeth. Adam paces back and forth in front of the bookcase like Gansey had, waiting, imagining and reimagining the ways in which his plan could get away from him. There seems to be too many of them, but Adam figures that has something to do with the plan remaining unfinished. There's no expected outcome; there's only _stay with Gansey_.

“Are you tired?” Gansey asks softly, reappearing. Adam's startled, but he's able not to show it.

“Yeah,” he says, because it's true in more ways than Gansey even knows. Gansey nods, placing his shoes by the door. Adam re-shelves one of his books and grapples with his courage, with the question of whether or not this is some kind of surrender. He tells himself it's closer to a treaty.

“Try not to wear yourself out,” Gansey says as he walks to the bed. He stops next to it, adjusting the round collar of his loose, blue t-shirt. It's different from the polo shirts Gansey favors, and there's a wide ring of pale skin on display. “But you can stay as long as you like.”

Adam looks at him and catches the smile; it's warm, but Gansey eyes are asking a silent question, still trying to work out why Adam had changed his work schedule, why he didn't go to St. Agnes to study, why he hasn't left yet. Adam's not keen on answering any questions, but thankfully, Gansey seems hesitant to ask them. Adam knows he's trying to be careful. They both are.

Gansey appears to go with his instinct, and climbs into bed, leaving Adam standing there. He putters around the bookshelf a little longer, then collects up the sheets of multi-colored cardstock that Noah had dribbled glitter-glue over sometime when he was alone in the building. Adam makes a pile next to Gansey's desk and finds himself empty-handed again. The light's still on, but Adam gets the feeling Gansey won't have trouble drifting off tonight. The density of thoughts in his head has finally reached breaking out, and there's nothing to do but lie down and let the tide of sleep carry them off. Still, Adam moves quietly to the wall and flicks the switch, plunging the room into darkness tinted only by the moon. He can't just stand around all night, anyway.

“Parrish?” Gansey asks after a moment of silence goes by. Adam feels bad; he's being a little cryptic in his methods. He sees Gansey raise his head from over the back of the chair, his hair painted a faded grey.

Adam leaves his shoes next to Gansey's and manages to get to Gansey's mattress in what feels like a nonchalant way. He shrugs off his hoodie and balls it up on the floor, and Gansey is squinting at him like an overly-critical five-year-old. His glasses are on the floor. Adam meets his gaze and shrugs a little, ignoring the stupid flutter in his chest.

“Do you need me to stay?” Adam asks, hopeful. Gansey is still for a moment, attempting to read the signs. Adam is suddenly grateful that Gansey's eyesight is terrible; he can tell his face must look terrible.

“Yes,” Gansey says, finally, serious even though he is smiling slightly. He touches the space next to him, and Adam's anxiety seeps out of him. “Please.”

Gansey has made it easy for Adam to pretend that this is Gansey needing Adam and not Adam needing Gansey. The tired, warm look on Gansey's face as Adam says a quiet “okay” is a far, far thing from pretend. Adam shucks his jeans without thinking too hard about it, placing them next to his hoodie. He's used to seeing Gansey and Ronan's rumpled clothes discarded around the apartment—the epitome of busy and lazy teenage boys—but never his own. He's not sure how he feels about it.

Adam lowers himself to the mattress, trying not to consider the consequences of this decision—they range from “explaining the situation to a sleep-deprived Ronan” to “never wanting to pull himself out of this bed.” Gansey looks very young as he lays his head back down. Adam mirrors him and Gansey pulls the blankets up to cover them both. They're quiet, the air heavy, and a new collection of worries start to buzz in Adam's head.

“I can't see you,” Gansey admits, letting a small, broken laugh escape from his mouth. He doesn't hesitate as he shifts closer, lifting his head from his pillow to take over half of Adam's. Gansey stops squinting, inches away now and blowing warm air against Adam's mouth, either by mistake or the exact opposite.

Gansey's presence—large and all-encompassing and comforting—reminds Adam, suddenly, of why he's here. Because Gansey's large and all-encompassing and comforting presence is a temporary thing, more temporary than he had first realized.

Adam moves his head almost imperceptively, but it still means their noses touch, and the way Gansey closes his eyes makes Adam swallow around his heart. And he knows where this is going, because they've both been dancing around this for months now. Adam's relieved. Terrified, but relieved.

“This is nice,” Gansey whispers simply and Adam wants to agree. It _is_ nice, but it's also teetering on the edge of tragic, because out of all the reasons he's here right now, Gansey's mortality is at the top of the list. He's trying to work out a response when Gansey cracks open an eye.

“Did something happen?” He sounds like he's figured something out.

“A lot of things, actually,” Adam says with a frown, turning the question into one that's less dangerous. “Did you forget?”

“No. Definitely not. We seem to breed unforgettable things,” Gansey says, and Adam can tell from his tone that _unforgettable_ means _traumatizing_. Then: “Is this okay?”

He raises his hand from where it was resting between them and brings it Adam's face. Adam nods, slowly, and Gansey's fingers slide along his cheek. His thumb finds it's way to the skin between Adam's eyebrows, and smooths across it, up and down, until the worry-line Adam knows is there has disappeared along with his frown. He feels very tired suddenly, rough edges and defensive spikes worn down by Gansey's touch. Gansey looks unabashedly pleased with himself when Adam makes eye contact with him. The moment stalls and then races forward again as Gansey's fingers curl into Adam's hair, and his hand moves to cup the very back of his skull, his elbow coming to rest against the junction between Adam's shoulder and neck. Gansey tilts their foreheads together, pulling gently at locks of hair on the top of Adam's head.

Adam marvels at the fact that all their fights and their differences have led them here. Adam has said things he shouldn't have, but he's also said things he needed to. This feels like the payoff. Gansey doesn't hate him, never has.

“Am I doing something I shouldn't?” Gansey asks after a long pause, and his voice is surprisingly ragged, like Adam's already said yes. Adam's hands find the bottom of Gansey's shirt and twist into the fabric.

Adam says, “No. For once, no.”

It's a statement of intertwined truths and lies, but Gansey smiles, and Adam has to kiss him.

He doesn't have to lean very far forward, away from Gansey's hand and towards his face. He tilts his head to avoid colliding their noses, but he stops a breath away from Gansey's mouth, questioning his bravery and trying at the same time to steel himself into closing the gap. Gansey's eyes had fallen hurriedly closed when Adam moved, as if he was afraid the moment would not be right if he didn't, and Adam stares at Gansey's long lashes, the blue vein curling around his eye socket. The tips of Gansey's fingers just touch the back of Adam's skull. There's an exchange of shaky breath, and Gansey, still not looking, lifts his chin and presses the tip of his nose against Adam's cheek, encouraging him but nothing else. Only Adam can finish what he's started. Otherwise, this all falls apart.

Gansey's mouth is slightly open, and Adam kisses him once, slowly, a tentative touch of lips. Gansey is slightly less tentative but gentle all the same when he kisses back, wanting Adam to know that this is okay— _more_ than okay. Adam expects the taste of mint and it's there, swallowing him up with Gansey's warmth, but there's something else, too—lilac and lemon, maybe. He smells like dust from the books and day-old detergent. Adam pulls back.

He feels a surge of something, unnameable but not unwelcome, when Gansey's eyes open very slowly, looking impossibly innocent. His hand slides through Adam's hair and back to his cheek, grazing over his good ear with a muffled sound that Adam's grateful for. Gansey's thumb moves across his cheekbone, delicate in a way that Adam isn't used to. He's accustomed to knuckles and rings. Not this.

“Are you alright?” Gansey asks. Adam is very alright.

They kiss again, harder this time, teeth clacking against one another before Adam turns his head and they fit together. Adam's teeth drag across Gansey's lower lip. Gansey kisses the corner of his mouth, managing to be both careful and fierce in a way Adam can only imagine Gansey can. He's caught between being that old, chivalrous knight and a deprived teenage boy. Adam's thumbs find Gansey's skin beneath his t-shirt. Gansey shivers in response, but he presses closer.

A stuttering sigh ghosts through Gansey's lips when Adam separates them again, steadying himself with a palm on the mattress as he climbs up and swings a leg over Gansey's waist. He pauses for a moment, straddling Gansey's middle, hands on his skin, and tries to catch his breath. Gansey has this desperate half-smile on his face, and Adam reaches over him and fumbles for his glasses. Once they've been slid up his nose, Gansey looks at Adam with fond, heavy eyes, the hazel irises dark and heady in the low light.

They meet again in the middle, Gansey rising to rest on his elbows and Adam dipping his head as his hands touch Gansey's neck.

“Adam,” Gansey breathes, and Adam catches the word in his mouth, returns it as he runs his tongue along the ridges of Gansey's teeth. One of Adam's hands finds it's way to the back of Gansey's neck, touching the hair at the base of his skull. The other remains at his throat, his fingers sliding over the contours of his Adam's apple and smoothing over his collarbone, his skin slightly tacky. Gansey's hands are on either side of Adam's knees, thumbs brushing against his thighs and palms braced against the bend in his legs, holding him there without any real force. There's a warmth in the cradle of Adam's hips as he shifts his weight, his breath hitching as Gansey's tongue smooths over his bottom lip. Everything seems slowed down when a moment ago it was too fast, and Gansey better aligning their mouths in a barely-there touch takes hours and hours. It feels like days before Adam peeks through his eyelashes at Gansey's face, at his brow furrowed in concentration as he places three quick kisses to Adam's mouth, chin, and jaw.

“Would you absolutely hate it,” Gansey says, drawing back, mouth swollen and voice rough, “if I said I loved you?”

Adam doesn't believe in true love. It's _another_ thing that probably doesn't actually exist; it's just a beautiful, unfathomable, fight-tooth-and-nail-to-have kind of ideal that everyone knows about and almost everyone wants. Love—just the plain kind—is not entirely different. It still doesn't feel like a real thing, a thing that you can search out or properly name or ever guarantee, but it feels closer, more like something that Adam could come to know. Sometimes, he'd like to think that he could believe eventually. Gansey, though, believes fully and unashamedly, and Adam's heart trips a little when he remembers that Gansey is never anything but honest.

They are both starting to realize that being _loved_ is something entirely different than being owned.

Adam swallows, lets the muscles in his back relax a little as Gansey waits, his body and eyes and hands unmoving. Adam thinks he might be holding his breath, but all he wants is for Gansey to breathe. He leans into an almost-kiss, their lips not touching, just hovering close. Adam rubs his thumb against the edge of Gansey's jaw and wonders if he's in love with him.

“Would you hate it if you said I couldn't stay?” he asks carefully, letting Gansey go. _Stay_ , in this case, means a lot of things to both of them, because there's stay the night and stay at Monmouth and stay in Henrietta, and Adam thinks he's referring to all three. Gansey's disappointment is evident in the tilt of his brow, but he's wearing a soft, understanding smile that would do a reasonable job of hiding his sadness in front of anyone else. Adam can see it plainly.

“I'll ache over it,” Gansey says, and Adam's reminded of how much he'll miss Gansey's voice, his ancient poetry lilt. “Everything I want is right here.”

Adam knows that, but everything he wants is not. Henrietta doesn't have the same tarnish in Gansey's eyes, but there's no way to scrub it off now.

“But no,” Gansey says, “No, you have to do what you want to, Adam. You have to. I couldn't live with myself if I kept you from what you wanted.”

Adam knows that it's his decision to make. He'll leave no matter what Gansey or Blue or anyone says, but it still feels good to have that approval. Just to know that Gansey won't hold him guilty for the rest of his life is a weight he couldn't name before lifted from his shoulders. It could have crushed him, even when he was free.

Adam lets himself smile, nodding. He feels light.

“I wouldn't hate it,” he says, hands balled up on his thighs, eyes darting away and down for a few seconds. They return to Gansey's face cautiously. “If you did say it.”

Gansey's smile returns, full-fledged and golden. Adam kisses it, slow and wanting, hands holding Gansey's face. His fingers trace the curve of his cheekbones, thumbs touching the corners of Gansey's mouth. Gansey kisses him like it's the last time, and Adam has to hope that it isn't, that they'll do this again. He's going to do everything he can to let this last, keep Gansey safe, with him, with all of them. Then they're apart, and Adam leans their foreheads together, trying to hold this feeling in his chest, mouth quirked at the way Gansey's glasses are skewed. Gansey is quiet and patient as he raises his arm and squeezes the back of Adam's neck.

Adam lets out his quick, surprised laugh when Gansey presses his mouth to Adam's cheek and whispers, “Excelsior.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again for reading!


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